Bullseye
by sciencegeek51
Summary: A one shot that came to me after a long period of wondering just what the heck was behind Dean’s expression in “No Exit” when he and Jo were talking about their dads. Just fooling around in Kripke’s sandbox... It’s not my fault that they are such fun.


Bulls eye

_A one shot that came to me after a long period of wondering just what the heck was behind Dean's expression in "No Exit" when he and Jo were talking about their dads. Just fooling around in Kripke's sandbox... It's not my fault that the Winchesters are so much fun to play with._

Spring was late this year. The weather had remained cool and overcast, and this early April weekend promised to be no different. Most folks remained indoors, yards and gardens still dormant and untended. Only a few dedicated gardeners were out and about and most of those were too preoccupied with planting bulbs and cleaning up the winter debris to pay heed to the large dark car that slowly prowled down their quiet suburban streets, like a great animal in search of prey. Up one street and down another in a precise search pattern that still failed to locate the desired goal.

The vehicle's driver let out a low frustrated groan. Looking into the rear view mirror to briefly check on the backseat occupants, John Winchester continued his search.

In the backseat, two young boys sat quietly behind their father. Having long since lost any interest in checking out the neighborhood's empty streets and yards, the boys occupied themselves with a tattered coloring book that still had a few pages left to color. Dean, in his role as older brother, kept track of the various pieces of broken crayon and made helpful suggestions, while his little brother, Sammy, diligently worked to keep from coloring outside the lines. It wasn't proving to be an easy task for the little guy and he was getting frustrated. John was amazed and profoundly grateful that Dean had managed to keep his brother quiet for as long as he had. Sam could be quite a handful when he wanted and John had enough on his mind these days without dealing with a cranky or bored toddler on top of it all.

John wasn't looking forward to having to send Dean to school next fall, but he didn't see any way to keep Dean with him without attracting too much attention from well meaning strangers and the authorities. By keeping on the move, John had managed to avoid problems and only a few more months remained in this school year. But a few close calls that could have ended in disaster made John's decision inevitable. A brief stint as a temporary custodian at a inner city school had provided him with access to blank forms; and the locks on the old file cabinets there were no match for a determined John Winchester.

Packed away in a bag stowed in the trunk of the Impala, Dean's forged school transcripts would pass any casual inspection and a call to his "old school" would back them up. John had been careful to pick a large enough school with a high turnover rate so that Dean's records would blend in smoothly and it wouldn't raise any alarms if no one actually remembered the kid. A sob story about plant layoffs and the need to leave in search of work even though the school year hadn't ended should placate any school administration about Dean's failure to complete the first grade and they'd probably just give him some tests to decide which grade he should enter.

Dean's actual lack of school experience shouldn't be a problem; the boy was smart as a whip and a quick study. John had no doubts that Dean would "do the old man proud" like always. John had also acquired some worn out school books and pilfered test and homework papers from the trash bins during his brief janitorial career. Using them as a guide, John would sit down with Dean after Sammy fell asleep and teach the boy what he needed to know for going into the second grade, which included his cover story and orders to answer as few questions about himself and his family as he could. Dean being an open and honest child, John hated having to teach him the fine art of duplicity. The knowledge that he really had no choice did little to dispel his sense of failure as a father, and he would mentally apologize to Mary for undoing all the fine mothering she had accomplished. This insane life of constantly moving and hiding was such a far cry from the future they had envisioned together when starting their family. The boys deserved a real home, not the backseat of their car. But then, nobody deserved what had happened to his family.

Memories of Dean sitting in Mary's lap, actually reading along with her from his story books came unbidden to him, and John fought back the tears that always seemed to come when remembering those blissful times. Now Dean would read to Sammy and show him how to form his numbers and letters. John could only hope that Sam proved to be as smart and clever as Dean.

Driving through the quiet streets that were so much like their old home in Kansas reminded John of how deeply he regretted having to keep his young family on the move and hated that they seemed to miss out on so much that other families take for granted. Family gatherings on holidays, or even just relaxing and playing games and being together. The day that John realized that Dean no longer asked when they were going home broke his heart and ended with the mother of all hangovers. Each time he swore that he'd resist the need to drown his pain in booze, but the pain would continue to grow and grow until he just couldn't hold out any longer. He cursed the evil thing that had turned his life upside down and himself for his failures.

Learning all he could about hunting down the supernatural gave John hope and helped him keep focused on what needed to be done to protect the boys. Unfortunately, it also kept John's focus away from the niggling little details of day to day living. So when John did refocus on the boys, time would seem to have flown by since they left Lawrence behind them. Dean was now seven and Sam would soon turn three, and both boys were growing more quickly than John imagined possible. Bittersweet memories of Mary exclaiming over how quickly Dean outgrew his clothes came rushing back to him. Gifts of clothing from her family were barely worn before they were outgrown and then carefully packed away for future use. Mary had hoped to have at least three children, maybe four. Instead, she had been killed by some unknown evil being that had appeared in the nursery of her second born. Leaving John to raise and protect their young family all alone.

Even two and a half years after her death, John was still the bereaved husband. It wasn't healthy and was definitely affecting his boys, but John was helpless to change. His dreams were still interrupted with nightmarish visions of his beloved wife pinned to the ceiling, engulfed in flames that threatened to consume him and baby Sam. Whatever it was that took Mary from him was still out there. Waiting. Biding its time. Waiting to strike again. He knew it to the core of his being. There could be no rest, no safety until that evil thing was found and destroyed. He could only do his best, however woefully inadequate that might be, and hope that the boys would understand and forgive him when they were grown. And that was the whole point... ensuring that they got a chance to grow up. John hadn't started this fight, but he would see it through to the end. For Mary's sake, for her sons sake. It was his duty.

Meanwhile, John kept his eye peeled for signs as he, if not patiently then at least diligently, roamed the vast network of suburban streets. Finally his efforts paid off. There at the end of small side street was a neat, hand painted sign that lead to a home decades older that the surrounding houses. Wandering about the yard were a handful of people. Very promising and disappointing at the same time. An older home might offer some affordable silver items, but the boys were fast outgrowing their winter clothes and needed just about everything. John had hoped to find a few yard sales that offered suitable clothes for the boys at prices he could manage. The local thrift store had been a bust and money was too tight to even consider going to a regular clothing store. He needed a couple of the right yard sales and sooner rather than later. He'd check this one out and maybe get a lead on some others. He also resolved that he'd be sure to pick up items in advance from now on and avoid another ridiculous mess like this again.

Pulling the Impala over in front of the yard, John put it in park and then leaned back over the seat to address Dean. "Are you boys going to be alright if I leave you here while I check this out?", he asked. Expressions of disappointment and dismay flickered across Dean's face and he hesitated in answering.

"Dadd..., sir," he slowly replied. "Sammy is getting pretty restless and he's almost finished with his coloring book. Can we please look around and see if there's something he might like? I'll make sure he behaves." Dean looked up hopefully at his dad, silently pleading for release from the confinement of the backseat.

John just eyed his son for a moment, watching as Dean's face slowly reddened and he started to fidget. _Busted._ Reflecting on how he rarely needed to reprimand or punish Dean because the kid was a master at doing it for him, John relented and broke into a smile. "Well, I guess we really should make sure that Sammy has something to play with now shouldn't we?", going along with the charade. Typical of Dean, the kid asked as much for Sammy's sake as his own; but was hypersensitive to any sense of disapproval on his part. John often used that trait to his advantage as he fell into the habit of relying more and more on Dean doing his bit to keep their little family going.

Though the morning was cool, at least the weather wasn't raw and the boy's ill fitting jackets would suffice. Their ragged pants were something else again, and John noticed with chagrin that getting them new clothes couldn't be put off much longer.

With both boys in tow John crossed the yard and approached a table piled high with boxes of assorted items. Tools and household items lay scattered about and there was hardly any rhyme or reason to it all. An older woman who seemed to be in charge came over and let him know that prices were marked, but she was open to bargaining and there was more stuff in the back, inside an old outlying building. She indicated a small pile of cardboard boxes that could be used to carry any items he might choose. John politely thanked her and started to wander down the closest row. Finding a few old army blankets still in serviceable condition that would prove useful, John picked them up along with an old mess kit and trenching tool and found a sturdy box to place them in. Further along there were a few old items of silver that were cheaply priced, so John added them to his collection.

Dean followed behind his father, Sammy's tiny hand held firmly in his, making sure that his little brother couldn't reach any of the various items. This made it hard for him to properly see all the fascinating bits and pieces that covered the tables, but he knew that he and Sammy would be end up back in car faster than his head could spin if Sammy started a fuss. Much as he loved his baby brother, there were times that Dean wished he was either any only child or had someone else around to look after Sammy. But these thoughts were usually followed by the realization that he once had a mommy who looked after both him and Sammy, but now she was gone and he had to be brave and do his best. Big brothers were supposed to take care of their little brothers. Mommy had told him so. Dean just wished that it wasn't so hard all the time.

Sitting under her favorite shade tree, its limbs still winter bare, Emma Atkins watched the young family wander about her yard... noting their worn, ill fitting clothing and rather scruffy appearance. Observing them, she recognized the "look"... growing up in the Great Depression, she had seen so many men, women, whole families with that same look. Folks who had lost everything but their convictions, trying to maintain some sense of dignity in a world that had gone crazy on them.

Unlike so many of the young kids today who seemed to think that the world owed them whatever they wanted for the taking, Emma knew that these folks would not be pilfering from her. No matter how much they might want or, more importantly, need something, they would pay for it or do without. She knew that she would accept any reasonable offer from the father and probably throw in an item or two for the boys.

After going through what lay outside on the tables and lawn, the three newcomers ended up in front of the old out building that had once served as a carriage house. Instructing the boys to remain outside in the yard and be on their best behavior while he was inside, John entered the building. Lit only by what sunlight penetrated the dusty windows, John had to peer closely into boxes to view their contents. By and large, what he saw was the usual collection of "junk" that accumulated over time and was pretty much useless for his needs. But then he spied a small, child sized BB rifle. Closer examination showed it to be an vintage Red Ryder model air gun, identical to one John had owned himself years ago.

John's now adult sized hands caressed the Daisy rifle as childhood memories flooded back. His old one was supposed to have been handed down to Dean, but it was long gone now, along with the rest of their possessions. Abandoned in John's flight from Lawrence. Now the same age as John had been, Dean was missing out on one more thing that John had wanted for him. But as much as John wanted to get the rifle, the harsh reality was there was barely enough money to cover essentials... food, clothes, gas for the car... and the list went on and on. _Damn it all to hell!_

_Oh, God._ It was scary how quickly he could go from regret and despair to anger and rage, and John struggled to suppress his emotions, grateful that he had left the boys outside. It wouldn't do to lose control, especially in front of the boys. They needed him to be strong and sure of himself.

Regaining control, John left the old shed and, boys in tow, took his box of items over to the small table that was set up near the old shade tree. While the woman totaled up the prices, John inquired if she knew of any other yard sales in the area that might have children's clothes for the boys. Pulling out a recent issue of the local paper from the pile of papers under the table, she handed it to him saying that there might be something listed in the classified section, Paying for his items, John decided that it wouldn't hurt to ask the woman about the rifle.

"Nice old Daisy you have in there." John said with a nod back towards the out building. "Had one myself when I was a kid."

"Yeah, it was my older brother's ... he sure did love that gun." Emma paused as memories of her childhood came to her, only to be replaced by later, sadder ones. "He never had a chance to pass it on; he never came back from Normandy."

"Sorry to hear that", replied John honestly. "It's never easy to lose someone."

Emma noted the ring on John's finger. She also noted how he never took his eyes off the boys for long, which combined with the noticeable lack of haircuts and watching how the older boy looked after his little brother told her that there wasn't a mother around anymore to tend to them. She felt pity for them, but knew better than to just intrude herself into their affairs.

"Were you in the service?", she asked, mainly to keep the conversation going. It could get lonesome knocking about in the old family homestead, with the rest of her family moved off to the far ends of the country. Nothing much to keep a young person in this small town, but her pension was adequate to support her and she had resigned herself to the fact that she would most likely be the last Atkins to live in the old house. Never having had a taste for travel, her books, art and community service were all she needed most times. A spinster schoolteacher still living in the old family home, she often joked and said that she was a living cliche. Hell, she even had the requisite cat.

"Yes ma'am, the Marines." John's quiet response brought her back from her musings. It was in that moment that Emma decided that she liked the man standing in front of her. It wasn't any one thing she could put her finger on, but she found she felt like she had known him for years. Maybe he reminded her of a favorite student or perhaps it was her lost brother that she saw in his eyes. Either way, Emma was touched by this chance meeting and wondered if it was a sign. It would not be the first time that she had met someone who affected her so strongly. Her parents had instilled in her a strong sense of compassion and charity. It was once again time to practice what she preached.

"Pardon me if I'm prying, but are you folks planning on staying in town or just passing through?" The look of regret that flashed across the man's face gave Emma her answer before the words reached his lips.

"Afraid we're just here for a short stop; then we'll be heading on out."

Emma nodded; then said,"Well, the reason I was asking is a bit self serving on my part. I was kind of hoping that you were looking for a bit of work and that I might interest you in helping me out here for a few days, a week tops. I've always had Norbert... he's been doing handyman work here in town forever... Norbert would do the heavy work that's a bit beyond me these days. But Norb got injured last fall in a car crash and he's still out of commission. Don't expect that he'll be ready to work much before July." She could see that he was tempted by her offer, so she decided to see if she could clinch the deal.

"I'm Emma Atkins. I pay a fair wage and it seems to me that we might even be able to work the gun into the deal, assuming you can stay around for that much longer. I've got a spare room off the porch that you and the boys can use. Save yourself some cash and you will be doing me a big favor. Can't get good help from the high school kids these days, they'd rather work at the local fast food joint. And I can mind the boys while you work... they can keep an old schoolteacher company."

John looked at her long and hard. Then he turned to look at the boys, running his hand first through his hair and then across his chin. He understood what her offer was and his pride made him want to refuse. But it wasn't his pride that was important here, it was his boys. He owed them better than what he could manage on his own, so he mentally weighed the pros and cons in his mind. They were low on money and he had no immediate prospects for work. Nor did he have an immediate destination in mind.

The names that he had obtained of other hunters who might be willing to work with him, teach him what he needed to learn in order to fight the evil thing that had taken Mary from him, they all lived quite a distance away and he needed funds to get there. He wasn't ready to hunt yet. Even if he had a safe place for the boys to stay, he was still too green. One thing he had learned in the Marines was that it was proper training that kept you alive to fight again. That and luck. He knew a lot more now about the menace he faced than he had in the beginning, but it was mostly from books and talking to others. Not until he faced them would he gain the experience he required, and to get that he needed an experienced hunter to watch his back. John had learned a lot from Daniel, but Elkins never understood that John could not leave the boys in the care of another for more than a short time. They were in danger, just as their mother had been. He had failed to save her, but he would protect his boys with his dying breath. And he would teach them what they needed to learn in order to survive.

Well, it seemed that the choice was obvious. Shaking his head ruefully, John straightened and turned to face her. He accepted her offer and agreed that he could do pretty much any projects she had in mind. He also mentioned that he was a fair hand at car repairs if that would be of any help to her. Next came introducing her to Sam and Dean as someone to whom they needed to listen, just as they did him. Life on the road had instilled the boys with a mild distrust of strangers that John didn't discourage. In fact, he tended to encourage their maintaining a distance from most just about everybody they chanced to meet, with few exceptions. This Emma Atkins didn't strike John as the busybody type and her straightforward manner made him feel relaxed about them staying in her house. John trusted his instincts and they were telling him that nothing bad would be happening here.

Since the other browsers had left without buying anything, Emma was free to show John and the boys the room they would be using for the next week. Dean's eyes lit up as they passed through the large kitchen off the porch. He used to love helping his mom in the kitchen and then being rewarded with a tasty treat. He wondered if they would get to have lunch. Breakfast had been watered down juice, some apple slices and cold cereal from the box. He was already feeling hungry again.

Opening the door to a good sized room next to the kitchen, Emma spoke softly. "My grandmother was in poor health for a long time before she died. Granddad hired a nurse to tend her and fixed up this room where it was warm all the time for the two of them. Plenty of room for you and the boys."

The week seemed to fly by. John made repairs, changed over storm windows for summer screens, generally spruced things up and got the old place back into ship shape. He even coaxed the cranky old rototiller into working long enough to turn over the numerous garden beds scattered about the grounds. Emma was quite pleased with his efforts and thrilled with the boys. Sammy was a curious child who spent hours investigating every nook and cranny in the rambling old house with Dean following not far behind to make sure that he didn't get into too much mischief. Exhausted from his adventuring, Sammy would curl up on the old sofa in the parlor for a long nap with her old cat snuggled up next to him. Emma would sit in her rocker and Dean would sprawl on the rug and they would share a plate of fresh baked cookies. Dean would tell her where Sammy had been wandering and Emma would tell him stories about what she and her family had done in the various parts of the house in her youth. Dean had a hard time fathoming Emma as a child, so she brought out the old family albums and showed him pictures of her parents, grandparents, numerous cousins and herself as a child. Seeing pictures of her brothers and sister, Dean asked where they were now and Emma tried to explain how time brings changes and how the people closest to her had moved away and now had new families and lives. The last time the whole family had gathered together at the old homestead was almost ten years ago. Emma noted that Dean never volunteered any information about his own family and she was sensitive enough not to pry.

Leaving Sammy to his nap, Emma and Dean would go to the kitchen and prepare lunch for everyone and get things started for the evening's dinner. Dean was delighted to help out and tried to anticipate what needed to be done before she had to ask. With just the two of them alone, Dean grew quite talkative and animated. Emma appreciated Dean's wry sense of humor and he loved to joke or tease while maintaining a straight face throughout, only the twinkle in his eye giving himself away. It came as no surprise to Emma as she realized that she was growing quite fond of both boys, but Dean especially, and she was thrilled whenever he rewarded her with one of his rare smiles. His smile transformed him into a different child, and not just because she had given him a haircut that let you actually see his face.

Emma wasn't looking forward to the week's end but she knew it was inevitable, so she planned to make them all a special dinner to celebrate their time together. And it wouldn't hurt that there would be a plentiful supply of leftovers for them to take on their journey, along with a box or two of canned goods that she had every intention of foisting onto them, despite any objections John might make. She'd learned a trick or two as a teacher about how to get through thick male heads and their stubborn pride.

Meanwhile, working around the old place, John would consider his options and run scenarios through his mind. John always had a plan, and a backup plan for every contingency he could think of. He had a fair idea of how far the money he was earning would take them, even if he took Emma up on her offer to sell him the Daisy. John had been a crack shot in the Marines and wondered if his skill with a gun hadn't started back in his youth, fooling around with the old Daisy. Would Dean follow in his dad's footsteps? Already Dean would join him as John went through his morning calisthenics ... Dean copying his dad as best he could. The boy had already taken over most of Sammy's care, getting him dressed and making sure he was fed. If Dean could handle a gun, then maybe he could be left alone for a day or two while John worked a hunt. Not that he was anywhere near ready yet, but it was a goal that John thought possible.

Tired and his mind never far from the need to plan ahead and reach the next goal, John listened with only half an ear to Dean's accounts of his and Sammy's day. He accepted Emma's compliments of Dean and his helpfulness, but kept to himself that he felt that as guests in her home, Dean was merely doing what was expected of him, though he did acknowledge that the boy was not one to shirk his responsibilities. Their stay here was pleasant, but John was getting anxious to resume his journey west and get on with the business of protecting his sons and avenging his wife's murder.

Departing Emma's place was a sad event, though Dean held back his tears and Sammy was too young to understand what all the activity meant. Wearing their "new" clothes and stuffed full of pancakes with warm syrup, both boys endured hugs and petting from their new friend as John packed the trunk and double checked the room for any stray items the boys may have left about. _Clean. _Dean had done a good job policing the room. He still had trouble properly folding his clothes, but that was mainly due to his physical immaturity, John reflected. Dean knew what to do, he just needed to grow a little more. John knew that he should be patient, it was just that there was so much that needed doing and he really needed Dean's help.

The Impala made good time on the empty highway as the Winchesters headed west . Both boys had nodded off within the first hour of the trip and John kept the radio low to keep from waking them. They were driving through farmland, large empty fields that had yet to be prepared and planted for the coming growing season. Some were bare and muddy, but a few had some stubble left from last year's harvest. Seeing one such field with an old wooden fence line running along the hedgerow, John pulled over and stopped. Getting out from behind the wheel, John walked back to the trunk and opened it. The change of motion roused Dean and he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Not seeing his dad in the front seat, he turned to look out the back window, only to realize that the trunk was open and his view blocked. Knowing he wasn't to ever leave the vehicle without his father's permission, Dean rolled down his window and called out, "Dad?".

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"Why... what's going on?" Dean's voice still sounded a bit sleepy, and John briefly considered resuming their journey, but the day was sunny and clear and he had stumbled upon an ideal spot to test Dean and his theory.

"Well, dude, I was just wondering if you'd like to try something new. What do you think? Up for a challenge?"

"OK, dad." came the response from the back seat, "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to come over here and be careful not to wake up Sammy." So Dean quietly opened his door and slipped out of the car, leaving Sammy asleep in the backseat clutching a stuffed toy that had been renamed in honor of Emma's old cat, and joined his dad at the back of the car.

John took a duffel bag out of the trunk and hefted it onto his shoulder. Tousling Dean's hair, John lead the way into the open field stopping at a fairly level spot. Puzzled, Dean watched as his dad removed a handful of soup and soda cans from the bag, filling them with loose stones and then setting them on an flat area about 25 feet away, before briskly walking back to him. John then removed one of the new acquired blankets and placed it, folded, on the cold ground. Mesmerized by his dad's deliberate actions, Dean continued to watch in awe as more items materialized from the depths of the bag. It was as if his dad had borrowed Santa's bag and out came all kinds of wonderous things. Maybe there would be something special in there for him, he dared hoped. Something better than the shirts and underwear he and Sammy each got for Christmas. Maybe it was his birthday and this was his surprise. He remembered that it was cold on his birthday and Sammy was real little, so maybe it was time for his birthday again. He really hoped so.

Dean had vague memories of an earlier time when his dad would take him out into the yard or to the park and they would play catch or his dad would push him on the swings. What he remembered the clearest was how his dad talked and joked with him and that it made him feel so happy and special. Dean missed that closeness with his father almost as much as he did his mother, and he tried to figure out in his own childlike way why it wasn't that way any longer and what he could do to get it back. In the process, Dean was becoming more and more a sensitive barometer for his dad's emotional state. Picking up on subtle clues, the young boy would adjust his behavior, and that of his brother, in an attempt to restore his father's emotional equilibrium. It didn't happen overnight, but the passage of two and a half years had seen the transformation of the happy little kid that was four year old Dean Winchester into the reserved and wary child of today.

The last things removed from the duffel were the rifle and a box of BBs. John had spent an hour the night before cleaning, oiling and checking out the rifle, but he still needed to check on the gun sight. He filled the chamber with ammo and worked the lever. Satisfied, he sighted in on the row of cans and fired. _Ping!_ The tin can bounced back with the impact. _Nice._ The rifle may be old, but it still shot true.

John worked the lever again to set it up for the next shot and called Dean over to him, asking him if he wanted to try his hand at shooting. Dean nodded his enthusiastic assent, so John had him lay down on the blanket, then knelt down beside him positioning him and instructing him on how to hold the rifle. Next he showed Dean how to aim at the target and gently squeeze the trigger. Laying down prone would keep the rifle steady for Dean and help him aim. John had also set it up so that the cans were at point blank range, though he didn't expect Dean to hit more than one or two of the cans on his first try at shooting.

Finally John was satisfied that Dean was as ready as he could be and, keeping his voice low and calm, told Dean to pick a can and see if he could hit it. Dean had been waiting for his dad to let him fire and John had no sooner finished speaking than _Ping!_ the first can on the left rocked with the impact. Dean tried to fire again, but nothing happened. He looked at the rifle and then his dad in confusion. John's smile turned into a soft chuckle as he explained to Dean that the lever needed to be worked in order to load the next BB and get set for the next shot. He showed Dean how to roll to the side so that he could work the lever and then roll back into position, cautioning him to be careful not to move too fast or not take proper aim. Dean asked if he could shoot again and John told him that he could indeed keep on shooting, as long as he did things slow and steady.

Following his father's instructions, Dean proceeded to aim, shoot and hit each of the cans that John had set up for him. Bursting with pride at Dean's accomplishment, John rummaged in the duffel and pulled out a number of bottles and proceeded to line them up on the wooden fence. Now he just had to decide where Dean should shoot from and if he was up to firing from a standing position. John didn't want Dean shooting glass bottles from too close, so he had him stand a little further back. Standing behind Dean and prepared to pull him aside if he had miscalculated, John steadied his son and helped him aim once more.

"Remember, at this distance you need to aim just a little high on the bottle because the BB is going to drop the further away you shoot. Got that?"

Dean nodded and as he felt his dad remove his hand from his shoulder, he fired. _Crack!_ Instead of rocking the way the can had, the bottle shattered with the impact, startling Dean and illiciting a quick laugh and pat on the shoulder from his father.

"Way to go, dude! A regular chip off the old block." Dean looked up at his dad and grinned as well. He half hoped that his dad would lift him up and swing him around the way he once had when Dean was younger. The way that he sometimes would with Sammy when he was in a good mood. But John didn't do that, though he did laugh and gave Dean a proud smile along with placing his hand fondly on Dean's shoulder.

Dean loved it when his dad would laugh, but it seemed to happen less and less often. Maybe this shooting game would make his dad happy again, make him laugh again. At least, as long as Dean didn't miss. Dad didn't miss his shot, so Dean needed to make certain that he didn't miss either. Dean resolved at that moment that just as he took care of Sammy and kept him happy, he would do the same for his dad. His dad needed him to help take care of things and he didn't want to let him down. He needed to be a big boy now.

John never noticed the change in Dean's stance; or, if he did, attributed it to natural pride in a job well done. Besides, John was already making plans for more training for Dean. Teaching him the skills he would need to protect himself and his little brother. John looked at his son, but instead of seeing a young seven year old child, he saw a young hunter in the making.

The path of life is full of choices and roads not taken, and little did the Winchester family foresee where the path they were now taking would lead them. A path that would lead Dean and Sam to a renovated warehouse in Philadelphia and a hunt with the fatherless daughter of a hunter that John would not even meet until years after that cold April week.

A path that lead to girl named Jo who would ask Dean about what memories he had about his own now deceased father. To her asking, "What do you... what do you remember about your dad? I mean, what's the first thing that pops into your head? Come on, tell me." , as Dean just shook his head, refusing to go along.

Until finally after a long pause Dean responds," I was six or seven. And, uh…he took me shooting for the first time. Bottles on a fence –- that kind of thing. I bull's-eyed every one of 'em." A momentary flash of pride there. "And he gave me this smile, like…I don't know."

And Dean remembers. He remembers not just the feel of the rifle in his hands as he made his shots, or the thrill of the hitting the bottles and cans that he shot that cold spring day, or his father's smile. He remembers the burning need he's always had for his father's approval... his love ... and what he did in pursuit of that love, that approval. He remembers that day for what it was... a step, one of many, that ultimately lead him to where he is today. To the person he is today. A twisted freak with no options left but those that lead him inexorably forward in this life he never really wanted, but could never find a way to escape.

As he remembers, Jo says, " He must have been proud."

How can he answer that? All he can say is," What about your dad?"

the end


End file.
